Trailsanity

Thursday, November 14, 2013

After a long silent period, I've finally taken some pictures to share. There is no adventurous story this time - I'm just documenting my standard long run in San Francisco. The route goes from my home, through Golden Gate Park to Ocean Beach. I then follow the beaches and bluffs to Golden Gate Bridge, and return home through the Presidio, past the San Francisco National Cemetery.

Monday, July 29, 2013

This weekend, I made a second sortie into the Desolation
Wilderness near Lake Tahoe. Last time I went there, I injured my foot. I
decided to repeat that same loop, but in one day instead of two. The terrain
isn’t wild enough to warrant camping.

I did the black loop, and didn't use the red escape route from seven weeks ago.

The total length of the loop is 29.4 miles (50km), with a
rough vertical of 4800 feet (1500m). I was aiming to finish this in 7-8 hours,
which roughly means I would need to bring 2400 kcal. The trip took me 11 hours,
and the food only lasted half-way.

Overall, I’m very happy with both the run and my performance:
the scenery was fantastic, I never stopped moving, and I also avoided both injuries
and pain. The only thing lacking was my speed, but that was an effect of not thinking
when packing the night before.

If you don't care about running nutrition, you should skip to the place marked XXX.

Two factors interfered with my ability to think clearly about my nutrition strategy:

1)I’ve
spent too much money and time in the dentist’s office because of past over-consumption
of gels and sugary sports drinks. I now try to eat as much real food and as
little sugary food as possible when I run.

2)When packing, I suddenly realized how small my new hydration vest was. After I packed the minimal gear
required for safety, there wasn’t much room left. That made me pick the
calorie-densest nutrition I had on hand, without paying sufficient attention to
the mix of nutrients.

Based on those factors, I made a snap decision on what to
bring, instead of doing some easy math. (Always do the math!). Here is what I
brought:

Units

Carb
(g)

Protein (g)

Fat
(g)

Energy (kcal)

Almond Butter

Pack

5

30

35

90

1000

Peanuts

Pack

2

12

14

28

320

Clif Shot Gel

Pack

4

48

0

0

400

Tortillas

Pcs

5

60

5

5

300

Provolone Cheese

Slice

5

0

25

25

350

Smoked Ham

Slice

5

0

50

25

350

150

129

173

2720

2700 kcal should be sufficient for this effort. However, I also
should have done the following analysis:

A general rule of
thumb for exercise is that we need 0.75 g/kg/hr of carbs and 0.25 g/kg/hr of
protein. If I had done the math beforehand, here is what I would have seen:

Carb

Protein

Fat

Kcal

Need/hr*kg

0.75

0.25

0

Need/hr @ 88kg

66

22

0

352

Hrs fueled

2.3

5.9

7.7

The carbs I brought last only 2.3 hours. Duh. I had a huge breakfast, so I
lasted a bit longer than that, but it should have been obvious that my mix of
nutrients was way off.

Even accounting for using some fat as fuel during a long effort
like this, I didn’t have enough. Here is an alternate hypothesis that I might
try out one day.

Carb

Protein

Fat

Kcal

Need/hr*kg

0.5

0.25

0.15

Need/hr @ 88kg

44

22

13.2

382.8

Hrs fueled

3.4

5.9

13.1

7.1

So, that’s the root-cause analysis of my slowness.

XXX

Now, here
is what happened during the actual run.

Thunderstorms were expected by 3pm, so I planned to start
early and be back in the car before Thor showed up in his chariot. That thought
of lightning was enough to get even me out of bed before 6am. I headed over to
Ernie’s and had the big breakfast we all dream of before a run.

Breakfast!

After that, I drove up to Echo Lake and started running at
7:20am. The temperature was about 50F (10C), but the sun was already quite
strong. The first 9 miles up to Mosquito pass were uneventful. I remembered the
trail as quite runnable, but this morning it wasn’t for me. I was fretting
about twisting my ankle on the rocks. Ironically, on the way back I was tired
enough to ignore that fear and just roll down the trail.

Going up was slow, but going down ten hours later, I had lost respect for the rocky trail.

Wildflowers by Lake Aloha.

All snow gone from Mosquito Pass. Looking down into Rockbound Valley.

Near the top of Mosquito Pass, my bottles were empty. Just according to plan to plan. Refill station
would be the Rubicon River two miles down hill. When I ran into two ladies in
their mid-40s carrying double bottles and wearing ultra runner magazine tees, I
thought I'd just check in on the water situation with them.

One of them told me
clearly that there was very little water in the river, and that I ought to make
a 2-mile detour to Clyde Lake to fill up. Something in how she spoke (probably
that she was very loud) made me think that she was one of those park ranger
types that will not give you the truth, but will feed you the information that
will lead you to the decision they want you to make. So I went down to check
the river out and found plenty of fresh, running water.

Please don't be that
person: respect your fellow adults and let us all make our own decisions.

The mighty Rubicon. Maybe not, but still plenty of water.

The trail in Rockbound Valley was very nice and very
runnable. Last time I passed through I was in pain and lost the trail several
times. I have now learned the Rule of Finding the Trail: if you lose the trail,
it is always up-hill.

Rockbound Valley felt like a well-groomed park.

Climbing up the granite fells to Velma Lakes was as
uncomfortably hot as last time. Around here, I started realizing that I was
almost out of food. I was barely half way. I think my body was screaming for
carbs, but I kept feeding it fat. That’s how you eat 400 kcal per hour.

My granite highway.

By Velma Lakes I came back to the Pacific Crest trail, and turned
south on it. I passed through a radioactive forest, and sat down with my feet
in the water of Fontanillis Lake while I re-applied sunscreen, and had my last
Almond butter. The time was 1:15pm, and I only had 2 oz of Peanuts left.

Radioactive forest.

Brief relief. (It rhymes!)

I quickly got back on the trail and passed Dick’s Lake,
which marked the beginning of a 1200-foot climb that was exposed to the sun. This
was my mental low point of the day. I pushed hard but moved slow. Arriving at
the crest, I was quite annoyed to look down on the saddle point.

Dick's Lake, Dick's Peak, and Dick's Pass.

"Dick's Pass", 150 feet higher than the saddle point.

South from Dick's pass. Lake Aloha in the background.

Luckily, the views on the south side of Dick’s Pass were
amazing. I also met someone who was feeling worse that I did. Both invigorated
me.

While snapping these photos, a man in his early 60s climbed
up toward me on the trail. I said hi and asked how he was doing?

-“OK.”

-“Where are you headed to?”

-“North.”

-“Uh-hum. Where are you coming from?”

-“I started at the border in April”

-“Wow – that’s amazing! How has it been?”

-“I dunno. Frankly, it has worn me down.”

Even though I feel sorry for him, it was great to get a dose
of reality from a real border-to-border wanderer. The stories of those
adventures that get told widely are usually so rosy. This guy was sick of it,
and couldn’t wait to bail out at Donner Pass, 50 miles down the trail.

I proceeded down through wild-flowers and greenery, and
always managed to find fresh running water when I needed it the most. My
stomach was rock-solid throughout, even though I was sweating a lot in the
heat.

Leaving Dick's Pass. Heading down to the saddle point.

Overall, I was quite uncomfortable for the last six hours of
the trip. However, it was clear that the cause of the discomfort was being
upright and in the sun. It didn’t have much to do with my pace. Standing,
walking, and jogging were all the same. However, if I tried running up-hill my
heart-rate would spike, so that was out of the question.

Heading up toward Lake Aloha.

I portioned out the remaining peanuts to provide salt for
the coming few hours, and settled in a rhythm of slow jogging on the flats and
downhill.

At 6:10pm I got back into my car. For the last two hours, I
had been trying to figure out what I could eat that wouldn’t make me sick. I
was extremely happy when I opened the trunk and my eyes fell on my kid’s
apple-sauce packages. I squeezed a few of them into my mouth, rested for a few
minutes and headed for the beach.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

I had planned to write this Trip Report to give a taste of
what I really train for: overnight “raids” into the back country. That didn't play out so well this time, but I think the story can serve as a reminder to
think about safety margins and decision-making on the trails.

The plan was to set out into the Desolation Wilderness
southwest of Lake Tahoe. Saturday would be a 18-mile fish-hook from the trail head at Echo Lake past Lake Aloha, up Mosquito Pass, down Rockbound Valley, up to Velma Lakes and then a loop back up
to Dick’s Lake. Sunday would complete the circle in 19 miles, using the Tahoe
Rim Trail and a detour to Half Moon lake for lunch.

Desolation Wilderness. Planned Route in black. Exit in red.

My backback weighed in at 26lbs before I added cheese,
hot dogs and bear spray. That would allow to me run slowly on the flat and
downhill, but only up the slightest inclines.

Starting out, my main worry was the heat. As I was driving
from San Francisco through Central Valley, the top temperature was 111F.
Forecast for Lake Tahoe at lake level (6200 feet) was 93F for Saturday and slightly lower but
a chance of thunderstorms on Sunday evening. That’s pretty high for someone who
lives in 53F and fog for seven months every year.

Echo Lake Marina

After a huge and somewhat late breakfast, I took off from
Echo Lake at 0830, and made good progress toward Lake Aloha. I passed a bunch
of people which always is strangely satisfying given that they in no way are
trying to compete with me. The views were absolutely stunning, and Lake Aloha
is a place I absolutely need to return to. I had only seen it in winter, when I
climbed Pyramid Peak.

Lake Aloha with Pyramid Peak in the background. I had only seen Lake Aloha in the winter, when I climbed Pyramid Peak on skis.

Lilies by Lake Aloha

Soon, increasingly large snow patches were covering the
trail, and I managed to get off trail for 30 minutes. When I run on trails, I
too often become sloppy and hand over the navigation to the trail. Ending up on
the wrong side of a ridge just shouldn't happen – they are very evident on the
map.

Where did the trail go?

Trail and lake on the other side of the ridge - sloppy!

I was also worried about stepping through the snow and
hurting my foot on the rocks below, so I was very careful near the edges of the
snowpack.

Around 1045, I reached the end of Lake Aloha and started
climbing toward Mosquito Pass. I was relieved to get off the Tahoe Rim Trail as
it feels too engineered and crowded. It is great for scenic running, but it
doesn't give me the wilderness vibes I’m looking for on these trips.

I was debating with myself whether I should stop for lunch
at the top of the pass or press on down through Rockbound Valley when my right
foot suddenly went through the snow pack. All 220 lb of body and backpack landed
on a sharp rock underneath. I felt the impact when the stuff inside the top of my foot banged
against the lower parts of the shin. It hurt quite a lot, but in my experience
these things go away after a while in 9 of 10 cases.

At least the lunch question was settled: I sat down in the
shade, turned on my Jetboiler, and made some delicious noodles with hot dogs. I
admired the view, munching crackers with artisan cheese when a runner came
sliding by on the snow pack. We chatted for a while, both of us regretting leaving our sunglasses in the car. A cap works great in most
cases, but when you are running on snow, at high altitude, on a clear day, in
the middle of the summer, at a latitude corresponding to southern Spain, you
really do want sunglasses. The runner was aiming for a 30-mile out-and-back, so
I showed him the loop I had planned. I think we went for that option, because I
never saw him again.

I finished my lunch quickly. I was in
competition mode, and wanted to see how fast I could get to my night camp by Dicks Lake

When I put weight on my foot my knee almost buckled from the pain. I told
myself it would get better when it warmed up, and it actually did. The trail
conditions were pretty challenging on the descent, with lots of snow, running
water, and rocks. I still ran some of, but was a bit bummed because I love
running downhill and had thought this part of the trip would be five gently
descending, eminently runnable miles.

Trail part 1 - straight ahead to Rockbound Valley

Trail part 2. Yep, this is the trail.

Trail part 3.

On the valley bottom, the trail was quite
faint and crossed the river many times. There wasn't that much undergrowth, so
it wasn't a big deal to lose the trail. I just needed to stay in the
valley until the mountain on the right opened up into a pass, and a stream
descended from the left.

Somewhere here, my foot started to hurt. A lot. I had been
compensating for the injury with all the other muscles that were available, but
they now cramped up and went on strike. Every muscle from the calf down was
rock hard and hurt. The banging and ankle-tilting of going off-trail had
certainly added to it.

The river I was following is named the Rubicon River, which is ironic. Just like Caesar was committed when he crossed the Rubicon back in 49 BC I was committed when I crossed the Rubicon of Rockbound Valley: the shortest way out was forward.

I was considering stopping for a while to see if things would get better, but in my experience they seldom do with foot injuries. The swelling can just get worse from sitting still. Normally, I would wrap a foot like mine quite tight, but I was thinking that my compression socks would do that job. Also, I really didn't want to stop because of the mosquitoes. They were relentless, and even a five-second stop had a hundred of them biting me
everywhere. Those bastards love compression socks: they can bite through the
socks, but you can’t feel them sitting there. EDDT is your friend, but it needs
to be applied to the skin, so it wasn't much help.

As I hobbled along,, I was very happy I had brought bear spray.
This valley is prime bear country: high brushes, plenty of water and berries.
Every river crossing was a relief: the cold helped my foot, cooled me off, and
relieved the mosquito bites.

Rubicon River

Rubicon River again

And again

Around 1400 I got to camper flat, which was a great relief.
To the east, a wide pass was looking down on me, and I would get to climb away
from the damn mosquitoes. Climbing up the granite fells was probably the worst
part of the trip. Granite is hard, and the trail was uneven. I made
really slow progress, and it took me two hours to climb the two miles up to the
Velma Lakes. I was also getting worried about the state of my
foot. Pain is one thing, but I was getting worried about long-term injury. I was twisting my foot outward, and was pushing on the outside of it a lot. I started thinking I could be hurting the the fifth metatarsal bone or the abductor digiti minimi. I have lost
enough time to injuries the last few years, and I really want to continue ramping my running volume like I’ve
been doing the last few months.

Somewhere around this time, I realized I needed to change my plans. Going toward Dicks lake would be a bad idea. With
23 miles to go back to the car, at 1 mph, I wouldn't make it even if I
walked all day Sunday. I'm not sure why this didn't occur to me earlier, but it didn't matter because there was no decision to be made until I had made it out of Rockbound Valley.

Examining at the map, my best options were to go to the Bayview campground orEagle
Falls trail head. I needed to decide which one, and also whether to camp
on the mountain or to try to make it down that day. I wasn't thinking clearly
enough to make those decisions, so I decided to stop for dinner.

I found an amazing spot by Lower Velma Lake, and made some Ramen and hot dogs. For the first time I took the sock off to look at the foot.
It looked pretty OK, and was most sore on the top right, which corresponds to a
normal sprain. This confirmed my hypothesis that compression socks do a good
job of limiting swelling from sprains.

Velma Lake and the foot. Yes, that foot.

Time to decide what to do: try to get out, or camp in this
awesome spot overnight? For many, that would be an easy question. They
would just stay and enjoy the view. For me, it wasn't that clear. I can only
sit and do nothing if I’m totally exhausted. Although I was in pain, the pace
had been so low that I still had enough mental energy to become severely bored. There was only going to be the mosquitoes and I for five hours until I would be able to sleep.

In my experience, sprains don’t really get better over the
first night, and may actually become worse when you relieve the pressure. Also,
the thought of sleeping in a real bed was honestly pretty compelling. I decided
that if I thought I could make it out safely, I would.

It was 1720, so I had three hours of sunlight plus maybe
forty five minutes of afterglow to go before darkness. The shortest way out was
3.5 miles to Bayview, which included a 1500-foot steep and potentially rocky
descent. It would be stupid to try that in the darkness. I had been doing 1 mph the last two hours, so I could
really not be sure I would make it.

I decided to conduct an experiment: measure the pace over
the next segment of trail and then make a decision. Luckily with food and rest
my pace had picked up, and I did 2 miles in “only” 1:15. For this segment I found a good and steady branch to take some pressure off the foot. I got some pretty
good hand blisters, but it was clearly worth it.

The final descent was as steep as expected – about 1500 feet in a half mile. Luckily it wasn't rocky. I moved very
slowly, but reached the campground just as the sun started to set.

Halfway down to Bayview

Now I just needed to find a ride to my car. I quickly found
the campground manager’s trailer and knocked on his door. The dude’s half-deaf
and rowdier cousin emerged. I told him that I hurt my foot and had to exit to
the wrong trail head. Was there any chance he could help call a cab?

- “A cab, umm… I don’t know how to do that? Do you have the
number?”

- “No, but maybe we could call411? “

- “Hmm. Have you tried hitchhiking? Do that while I finish my
dinner and then I’ll see if I can help you.”

I walked up to the road and put my thumb out. Ten cars
passed, but no-one stopped. After a while, an SUV stopped off the road in a
parking area. I decided to ask them for a ride, and they offered me a place in
the trunk if I was OK with waiting until after they had finished watching the
sunset. The people in the car were two well-kept couples in their early thirties, and I had both bear spray and a study knife, so I jumped into the roomy trunk and struck up a conversation.

After three minutes of chatting, the dude’s cousin comes
walking. He’s looking for me, and ask the people in the SUV if they have seen a
hitchhiker. I can imagine they were getting worried. Why would this hairy cowboy be looking for the guy in their trunk? It turned out he just wanted to
offer me a ride to a nearby restaurant, where they called a cab for me. That was very nice of them considering I was filthy and stank, and all their customers
had cocktail attire. The cab was cash-only, but luckily I had $100 with me
(along with ID and credit card) just for situations like this one.

The cab dropped me by my car. I then drove down to South
Lake Tahoe where I ate two Big Macs and went straight to bed.

There were a couple of decision points here that I’d welcome
discussion around:

Continued after initial
bruise.

Didn’t turn around in
Rockbound Valley

Didn’t proceed to original
campsite by Dick’s lake

Didn’t camp by Lower Velma
lake

Hitchhiked with the dude’s
cousin

Personally, I’m glad that I got out safely. My safety
margins were sufficient for a minor incident like this. Spraining an ankle is
something that can happen every time we hit the trails, and it is really useful
to think through what you do if it happens. I try to plan so that I can survive
a broken leg and at least two additional days in the wilderness. The only real lesson I've drawn this far is to be more disciplined about stopping and bringing the map out when I lose the trail. Maybe I will figure out more improvements to SOP and packing over the days to come.

Also, I learned that I will not be returning to the Lake Tahoe area for
wilderness experiences – the space is too small and there are too many people.
The trails are wonderful for running, and that’s what I will do there.

I will return
to do this loop, but it will be as a day trip with a light pack. The trails
definitely are sufficiently runnable (except for 2-3 miles in Rockbound Valley), and the climbs are quite gradual.